


The Ring

by nutmeag83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Angst, Character Study, Happy Ending, Like right on the verge of a relationship, M/M, Mistakes, No Dialogue, Or maybe just a hopeful one?, Parentlock, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, So so close, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: John’s wedding ring is more than a vow of fidelity. It’s a reminder of how badly Sherlock made a mess of things when he faked his suicide.Five times the ring reminded Sherlock of his mistake, and one time its lack brought Sherlock hope.





	The Ring

**Author's Note:**

> My first 5+1! 
> 
> Every time I see the gif of John covering his eyes when he's crying right before The Hug, my gaze is caught by his wedding ring. It's all "Heeyyy, look at me!" So then I wondered what Sherlock thinks of it. Here's what came out.
> 
> Not beta-ed or Brit-picked. It's edited, but I'm sure there's still plenty of mistakes. Point them out or ignore them. But mostly just enjoy the story. :)

**I.**

The lights flash, the music thrums. It fits right in with his throbbing heart. John is going to be a _father_. There will soon be a tiny, beautiful, perfect John running around. Sherlock can’t help imagining them feeding ducks at the park, teaching the baby to walk, showing the baby the wonders of the world.

John’s hand cups Sherlock’s neck almost intimately, and his expressive face almost seems to hint that he is envisioning the same as Sherlock. Then John’s eyes shift over to Mary, where his other hand rests, and out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock catches the gold glint of a ring, newly added to John’s finger that afternoon.

Of course. It isn’t him and John anymore. There is Mary, too. _Of course_ there is Mary. Without her, there would be no perfect, tiny John to be excited about. They wouldn’t be standing in this loud, crowded room, having just solved an impossible murder and now dealing with the idea of a baby.

Sherlock takes a moment to school his features and wipe his mind of inviting, impossible images. He takes a deep breath and watches the love of his life dance away with someone else.

He can’t do this anymore.

 

**II.**

The slaps sting, but it could be worse. Why could it be worse? Ah, yes. The ring is gone. Judging by Molly’s body language and the lack of ring, it’s obvious that things are over between her and whatshisname.

Molly doesn’t appreciate Sherlock’s reminder, and he thinks she might slap him again for pointing it out, but she refrains.

In any case, better a slap from Molly’s ringless hand than a punch from John’s still be-ringed one.

Sherlock tries to push the thought of that damned ring out of his mind, but every time John moves, the shiny metal catches the light and Sherlock’s eye, forcing him to see it, to remind him of his many mistakes.

They argue, and it’s almost like it used to be, but then the fucking ring flashes and Sherlock gets defensive, then John gets defensive, then Mary pushes herself into the conversation uninvited.

It’s easier once it’s just the two of them again, but still, the damned ring intrudes, just like Mary.

Sherlock can’t deny how good it feels to have John by his side again, though, even if the circumstances are less than ideal. John is alive and real and pushing Sherlock’s every button, just as he’s meant to. The jibes to Mycroft are a bonus, and Sherlock laughs without thinking. This is how it’s meant to be: the two of them against everyone else, whether they be nosy brothers or repellant media moguls.

The ring is forgotten until they part ways on the pavement of Bake Street, where it catches the sunlight as John gestures. Sherlock makes a remark about John’s weight in retaliation.

This whole plan is a bad idea.

 

**III.**

The wind caresses his cheek, too soft for the agony he’s going through. He’s left John before, so it should be easier a second time. But he hadn’t understood the enormity of his actions the first time, hadn’t realized they would affect John so harshly.

But here they are, saying goodbye again, John not quite understanding what’s happening. And this time, Sherlock doesn’t want to tell him, doesn’t want to say goodbye, doesn’t want to see that precious face for the last time.

Why are Sherlock’s actions still affecting them years later? He has paid for his sins—in the two years away, in John’s anger, in the marriage—why does he have to pay for Mary’s sins, too? It’s not fair.

In his anger and agony, he lets it slip. Not the whole of it, just the beginning. He is brought back to his senses with the clenching of his hands, tucked safely behind his back where they won’t make any untoward gestures. John is similarly posed, and Sherlock can visualize his hands tightly clenched, white but for the glint of gold on one ring finger. And with that image, Sherlock manages to stop his traitorous mouth from making an utter fool of him. He makes a joke. He clears his mind.

He says his final goodbye. Again.

 

**IV.**

Metal clinks against ceramic. He pulls his mind back from its far away thoughts. Not in his mind palace, just away. It’s easier these days to be away, though only in mind. He couldn’t handle being physically far from John. He understands that now, accepts it.

Sherlock looks up to see John lost in his own thoughts, finger absently clinking his ring against his mug of tea. He is sat at the desk, working on a blog post. It’s quiet but for the clinking. Mary had taken Rosie home hours ago, much to Sherlock’s chagrin.

Though he had been eager to meet the tiny person John had helped create, he hadn’t realized just how much he would love the baby. His thoughts before Rosie had been intellectual (apart from the images he had banished the night of the wedding): how he would teach her things, how he would research everything there was to know about child rearing so John wouldn’t be anxious or worried. But then she had arrived, and all Sherlock could think was that she would take John away from him.

That lasted until the first time Sherlock held her. She had looked alien and had smelled odd. But when she had nuzzled deeper into his arms, Sherlock had realized that here was someone he could love unreservedly. No one would be angry or confused or hurt by that love. It was expected. It was the one little piece of John he could love without hiding.

And as she grew, Sherlock began to love her for her own merits: her smiles, her watchful eyes, her burgeoning personality. It was almost perfect, but for that band of gold still resting on John’s finger, with accompanying wife butting in from time to time.

He and Mary could have been friends, if things had been different. If she hadn’t shot Sherlock and lied to John. The first was almost forgivable—she had her reasons. But John’s face when he learned the truth, the words he said back at Baker Street after Leinster Gardens, no one should be allowed to make John feel that horrible. Sherlock had learned that the hard way.

You don’t lie to John Watson. It’s anathema.

But Sherlock pretended. He pretended she hadn’t hurt John, pretended that his chest didn’t ache when she looked at him a certain way. He pretended the glinting gold of a ring was cheerful rather than hateful.

He has finally trained himself to not notice it, to not think of his mistakes every time it makes its presence known. But occasionally, it changes from an ignorable glint to a clinking that is somehow as loud as a gong in Sherlock’s head, as if John wants to remind Sherlock of what he’s trying to forget. As if taunting Sherlock: _Do you think I’ve forgiven you? Really? I haven’t. I’ll never forget. And I’ll never be yours_.

As if he needs the reminder.

 

**V.**

A cry in the dark, stumbling feet, soft murmurs carrying through the baby monitor on the coffee table next to where he’d been napping on the sofa. The new sounds of home. A reminder that he’s not alone anymore. He cherishes every bit of it, despite the lack of sleep. He’s accustomed a lack of sleep.

He makes his way up to John’s room, lightly tapping on the door and saying he’ll take night duty. He’s not sleeping anyway. John has work in the morning, he argues when John tries to refuse.

The flash of gold as they transfer Rosie from one set of arms to the other reminds Sherlock that he hasn’t noticed the ring in a while. Not since John’s hand had covered his tear-filled eyes before Sherlock had bravely offered his best friend a completely inadequate yet life-changing hug. The reminder had been different that time, though still it had mocked Sherlock’s faults. He no longer thought of his own faked death and the havoc it had wreaked on his and John’s lives, but rather of Mary’s own very real death (and the havoc it had wreaked on his and John’s lives). Still, it was a reminder of John’s pain and that it was Sherlock’s fault.

But forgiveness had been offered in that moment, emotional aches were soothed by a hug and the realization that they were two very human men. John and Rosie had moved back to Baker Street soon after. Sherlock learned to accept the ring’s presence, even almost a year after Mary’s death.

So when the nightlight’s soft glow highlights the gold as Sherlock pulls a whimpering Rosie into his arms, he allows himself a moment of bittersweet memory, but he doesn’t dwell on it. The hate and the guilt are gone, and only acceptance remains.

Sherlock kisses the warm, curly head of his goddaughter and collects the stuffed elephant that Rosie refuses to be without. John sooths his daughter’s back with a hand. Sherlock doesn’t notice how close they’re standing until their eyes meet over Rosie’s head.

Perhaps it’s because they each have been startled out of sleep and aren’t as guarded as they are during the day. Perhaps it’s the soft lighting or the now-quiet but still wobbly inhalations of the child in his arms. Perhaps it’s just finally time. But when their eyes meet, Sherlock sees something there he hasn’t seen in years, since before the moment Sherlock had ruined everything with his lies. John’s eyes are sleepy but contented, happy even. His look is fond. Sherlock’s chest tightens.

Perhaps all is not lost.

 

**VI.**

John chuckles at Sherlock’s rather inappropriate joke. His hand goes to his mouth to cover it, but the mirth lingers in his eyes. Perhaps it’s because Sherlock had taught himself not to look at John’s hand, but he has been in John’s presence for at least six hours, and it’s only now that he notices the ring. Rather, the lack of one—a strip of paler skin the only reminder of its recent presence.

That strip hypnotizes Sherlock, despite the rather gruesome scene they are currently investigating. When he finally manages to tear his gaze away, it lands on John’s face. John is studying Sherlock intently. Their eyes hold, similarly to how they’d done only a few weeks before, in the middle of the night, with a crying child between them. John still looks fond and happy, but there is more this time. Nervousness.

Why would John be nervous about Sherlock noticing the lack of ring? It’s expected that, as a widower, he would remove it eventually. He doesn’t think Sherlock will judge him for moving on, does he? That makes no sense. Is it the removal itself that has caused the nervousness? Does he feel wrong without it? Sherlock rewinds the day. No. John had acted perfectly normal until Sherlock had noticed the ring’s absence. So it’s Sherlock’s reaction that’s causing the anxiety. But why?

Oh.

Sherlock’s eyes widen as they dart between John’s finger and face, trying to confirm his suspicion. His eyes finally settle on John’s, who offers a tentative smile. It grows when Sherlock returns it with a quirk of his own lips. Soon, they’re both grinning like idiots in the middle of a crime scene.

Lestrade’s disgruntled “Oi!” brings them out of the moment, but it lingers at the back of Sherlock’s mind for the rest of the investigation. John’s, too, if their shared smiles are anything to go by.

The reminder changes yet again. The guilt and regret are gone.

Now, there is hope.


End file.
